


What is love supposed to be?

by freedomfrenzy



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Asexual Character, BFFs, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Owen is a gay ace, Queer Character, almost attempted non-con, nobody has a problem with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:58:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6042370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedomfrenzy/pseuds/freedomfrenzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Owen found himself blushing over someone was at the Palace and it was wonderful and terrifying and flipped his world on its side. Faleron wasn't a sunflower of a pearl in the oyster of humankind or whatever Cleon would declare about Kel but when they managed to throw Zahir into a stall, right before Lord Wyldon appeared and sentenced them all to bread and water, Owen felt a surge of something that felt nothing like fighting bandits. He felt like he'd swallowed butterflies then missed the top step of Balor's Needle, something fluttered around his navel and he couldn't get a proper grip on it. Afterwards, everyone else's sighing over the ladies at court didn't make any more sense exactly but he wasn't completely bewildered either. Even Neal's bad poetry for Uldine of Hammon, hidden away in his desk until Faleron broke the lock for them during Midwinter, made a kind of sense. Not that Owen could understand writing poetry at all but there was something about the flutter that demanded capturing.</p>
<p>In hindsight, asking Neal about it was still a terrible idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is love supposed to be?

**Author's Note:**

> *deep breath* My first AO3 post. Exciting! This was a belated Christmas present for the only two friends I have in this fandom so it's unbeta-ed. Any mistakes are mine.

The first time Owen found himself blushing over someone was at the Palace and it was wonderful and terrifying and flipped his world on its side. Faleron wasn't a sunflower of a pearl in the oyster of humankind or whatever Cleon would declare about Kel but when they managed to throw Zahir into a stall, right before Lord Wyldon appeared and sentenced them all to bread and water, Owen felt a surge of something that felt nothing like fighting bandits. He felt like he'd swallowed butterflies then missed the top step of Balor's Needle, something fluttered around his navel and he couldn't get a proper grip on it. Afterwards, everyone else's sighing over the ladies at court didn't make any more sense exactly but he wasn't completely bewildered either. Even Neal's bad poetry for Uldine of Hammon, hidden away in his desk until Faleron broke the lock for them during Midwinter, made a kind of sense. Not that Owen could understand writing poetry at all but there was something about the flutter that demanded capturing.

****************************************************

In hindsight, asking Neal about it was still a terrible idea.

****************************************************

"This had better be important, Jesslaw," Neal scowled, eyes still resolutely shut as slumped against his chamber door. Kel was usually the only one of them to rise before the bells but Owen couldn't think of another time he'd be able to talk to Neal without her around. She'd talk with him, he knew she would if he asked, but Neal was the one with the head for romantic stuff and had a way of acting that made it easy to treat it casually. Kel would look at him with her Yamani stone face and talk like this flutter was valuable and valid. Neal's flippant attitude would make it easier to play everything off as a joke if he had to.

He hadn't realised just how much Neal hated mornings until getting to see the older page's murderous, shut eyed glare with his own, wide-awake-with-nerves eyes.  
It was impossible to keep his hands still. They jumped up to scratch his neck, tug on his sleeve, rub an eye, until he forced himself to limit them to picking at his sleeves. "How do you tell if you like someone?" he burst out in a rush, knowing if he didn't say it fast he'd lose his nerve. Fighting bandits was easier.

Neal blinked. It seemed this was better than a bucket of water for waking him up. Owen would've rather jumped in the Oleron during winter. A smile slowly spread over that mischievous mouth and Owen began to understand the depth of his mistake. "Who's the unlucky girl, Jesslaw?" Owen's hard thump to his arm didn't phase the older page in the slightest. "Is it a girl?"

He froze, dread overrunning the butterflies with all the power of an icy gust of winter wind. Maybe Neal wouldn't notice. "How do you tell?" Gods, this had only ever been a bad idea.

For once, Neal didn't overrun him with prying questions. Something flickered in his lively green eyes, realised exactly what Owen had very obviously avoided admitting. But he said nothing, a minor miracle in itself. Instead, he chewed his lip like he was pondering some obscure debate with Sir Myles on trade laws or the Code of Chivalry rather than a subject as seemingly straightforward as crushes. Finally he propped a fist under his chin and asked, "What do you mean?"

"How do you know you like someone?" It didn't seem like a difficult question. 

Neal pondered some more. "You just know," he said. It was a spectacularly unhelpful answer but he cut Owen off before he could say as much. "No one feels the same as anyone else. Someone lights up your world and only you can understand or appreciate it. Perfection, the likes of which such mundane creatures as ourselves scarce deserve to stand in their presence. Of course we do anyway but-" Owen stopped listening as Neal began devolving into flowery rhetoric, complete with dramatic gestures.

A dark blue flutter of colour nearby startled Owen out of his daze. Lalasa was ghosting into Kel's room, keeping her eyes determinedly away from the pair of boys. "Right." Owen said, cutting Neal's speech off mid sentence and hoping the older page hadn't noticed his eyes glassing over. "Thanks Neal."

The scornful look Neal directed down his nose at Owen was a relief. Things were back to normal. "Disrespectful whelp," he said tartly. "No respect for the intricacies of life's profound arts like the mysteries of love and-"

With a terrifyingly loud toll, the bell rang to call the pages from sleep. Neal started, banging his head against the door in the process. Amidst the curses directed at all manner of physical and imaginary things Owen made his escape. 

****************************************************

If Kel and Cleon were the worst kept secret on the Grand Progress, Owen and Faleron's fleeting partnership was the best. As Wyldon sent Kel flying, Faleron grabbed Owen's hand without even thinking. His other hand was on the rail that held them back from the joust, fingers so tight they were white. On his far side, Neal's face was drained of colour and Cleon looked ready to collapse, paler than even Neal. All caught up in their fear for Kel, none of them noticed Owen squeeze Faleron's hand slightly. Owen barely noticed himself, and certainly not in time to stop himself from doing such a foolish thing. Luckily for him, it didn't seem like Faleron had even noticed. Only after they'd reassured themselves that Kel was still alive did he acknowledge the gesture. Faleron pulled him aside, into the shadow of the stands and after a breath of hesitation that set the butterflies fluttering all anew, kissed him. 

****************************************************

Four days. Four tense days of stolen kisses between nervous laughter and glances to make sure no one is around. It was a jolly four days, Owen walked around with a strangely satisfied excitement in his belly and if they hadn't been busy making fun of Neal for his moping and Cleon and Kel for being so obvious, surely their friends would have noticed something was up. 

Faleron's sister did notice though. She arrived as the Progress passed through the lands just to the east of Port Legann, on the arm of her husband whose questionable judgment led him to challenge Lord Raoul to a friendly joust. While he recovered from his brief flight, Adalia of Niedes Jewel joined her cousin and his friends- at least those who weren't busy with their knightmasters or myriad other tasks- to wander the Progress. Her sharp eye picked out what their friends had missed, the light in Faleron's eyes as he introduced Owen. Later she drew him aside, while Owen was busy with Master Oakbridge's endless nitpickings and serving duties, and gently reminded him of his obligation to their family. He was the only son and while a marriage had not yet been arranged, his mother was already looking at potential daughter-in-laws. When Owen was finally freed from Master Oakbridge's pedantry, Faleron was waiting for him. It was the most talkative they'd ever been about their relationship and Faleron mumbled the essentials to him. Owen wasn't heartbroken exactly, he imagined that heartbreak would hurt more, but it hurt all the same. Someone like Kel would have seen the end coming and expected it but Owen had let hope start to spin him a happy tale. Still. They parted friends, two young men momentarily crushed by circumstance. In a few months, Faleron would face his Ordeal and Owen would be waiting on tenterhooks with all their friends to see if he would emerge whole but it would be a young woman from Aspen Vale who stood by his side as his beloved.

******************************************************

Kissing was nice enough, although Owen couldn't quite see why bards would wax on about a lady's kiss and the way it made even the darkest night sparkle. Perhaps because they never sung about the scrape of a beard because army scouts had no time to shave, or the lingering taste of mud that was left by weeks of winter riding north. Despite all that, Owen licked his lips when the scout pulled away with his hands twisted into nervous fists in Owen's shirt. He looked as anxious as Owen felt, so Owen tried to smile through the fizziness in his brain.

"Well," he said, trying not to let the other man see the way his heart was racing or how much he wanted to do it again. "That was jolly."  
Malcorm laughed. Laughed because Owen hadn't punched him and because that was a good reaction and because the response was so typically Owen. "Should I take that to mean we aught try it again?"

Owen nodded and let the man nudge him further into the shadows. He kept both hands on the other man's face, his fingers just daring to slide into muddy brown, short cropped hair. Beard bristles scratched his palms as Malcorm's tongue pressed into his mouth and he wasn't a fan of that but let it go on. The kiss got harder still, Malcorm pressing himself closer, and Owen started to feel uncomfortable. A hand fumbled at the ties of his hose and he tried to pull back, head colliding with stone and he realised he'd been backed against a wall. "Stop," he mumbled into the other's mouth. Malcorm didn't seem to hear him and his sweaty hand pushed further. Owen started to struggle, jerking his head to one side as far as he could with the heavier man pressed against him. "Stop!"

Malcorm did, easing back an inch from Owen's mouth. The invading hand stayed where it was but at least it wasn't moving any further. 

"What?" Malcorm panted quietly. "What's wrong."

Owen tried to form his feelings into words but they wouldn't come to him, he couldn't work them out. Did the words exist? "I'm-I don't-"

"Jesslaw!" Malcorm leapt back at the familiar bark and Owen slumped against the wall, too relieved to feel ashamed. Yet. 

His knightmaster was carrying a torch, shadows flickering in the scars by his eye, and how did they miss the approaching light? Owen bowed his head but Lord Wyldon wasn't looking at him. Right now his attention was focused on Malcorm, face giving nothing away. "Private Aynnar, 4th Company, Reconnoissance?"

Malcorm came to attention. "Yes milord."

"You should return to your company. I'm sure they are missing you. Dismissed."

Malcorm barely saluted before escaping as fast as anyone could while retaining some semblance of dignity. Owen took the chance to retie his hose with trembling fingers.

"Jesslaw." Wyldon's voice was quieter but hardly less abrupt. Trained to obey, Owen forced himself to look at his training master. Whatever he was thinking, he was keeping to himself. Like Kel, Owen thought, then struggled with the insane urge to laugh hysterically.

"My lord?"

That sharp gaze took everything in. "Come with me." 

****************************************************

It took every single ounce of courage to follow Lord Wyldon to his office. The entire trip was silent, that was the way Wyldon was and Owen wasn't sure he could speak if he'd wanted to. He wanted to run. But Lord Wyldon hadn't dismissed him yet so he was still honour bound to trail behind him, however dejectedly.  
There were several sealed letters on the oak desk and Owen winced internally. That explained why Lord Wyldon had been outside, he must have summoned Owen to deliver the missives. And Owen had failed to attend. If possible he drooped even lower.

Wyldon took his seat behind the desk, ignoring the letters. "Sit."

Owen sat.

Silence stretched between them and even though Owen could see that Wyldon was considering his next words, he couldn't help it. He had to say something.  
"I swear it won't happen again, I didn't want, I mean, I didn't mean to-"

"Enough." Near constant practise let Owen catch himself immediately and he went quiet. "Tomorrow morning I will have Captain Hollison dismiss Private Aynnar." Owen opened his mouth to object but Lord Wyldon raised his hand. "Are you going to tell me he was not attempting to force himself on you?"

"No- but I didn't mind at first, my lord." He wanted to add something about not getting the other man in trouble but the words stuck in his throat and the look on Wyldon's face made them crawl back into his head, unspoken. "We were just kissing, my lord-" Mithros, his cheeks were flaming like Merric's hair, he could feel them, "-it was fine, truly. Then he started-I didn't want-" Owen's words failed him again, face burning. Not even his shamelessness could tolerate describing the intended fumblings to Lord Wyldon, the Stump and his knightmaster. 

"Your intentions were clear yet he continued. That is considered a crime in the eyes of court and the gods both." If he was a girl, Owen thought rebelliously. The courts would either laugh him out or banish him in disgust. Who knew what the gods thought. "I consider it unlikely that you want this brought to official attention." Wyldon paused and Owen nodded. "But I will not allow Private Aynnar's actions, against my squire no less, to go unpunished."

Owen bowed his head, more grateful than he could say. He still hadn't entirely thrown off the feeling of hands shoving between his legs and though he'd never admit it to anyone, he was still a little shaken. "Thank you, my lord," he said, biting back the question that had sprung to mind. Wyldon frowned at him and he relented. "Does this mean I'm still your squire? My lord."

The knight sighed. "Yes, Owen."

Owen's heart and stomach untwisted themselves in relief. "Thank you sir- my lord," he said, tripping over his words in his haste to express his gratitude. "I'm sorry for-"

"Enough Jesslaw." Yet again Owen fell silent. Lord Wyldon didn't break the silence and it stretched between them. Owen wanted to fidget but forced himself to keep his hands still. His foot bounced up and down, partially hidden by the desk, but Lord Wyldon said nothing. He appeared to be thinking something through.  
At last he cleared his throat. "A relationship between two men is different to that between a man and a woman in some respects but similar in others."

It was understood between them that Wyldon would never entirely break Owen to bridle. Thankfully he'd done enough that Owen was able to keep his mouth closed when his first reaction would have been to gape like a fish out of water. His astonishment showed on his face regardless, earning a thin smile from his knightmaster. "I am not ignorant of the world, Jesslaw, though it cannot be said that I approve. In future you will keep such dalliances to more private areas than open courtyards."

"I- of course my lord," Owen managed to gasp out automatically. He hadn't thought his face could get any redder but judging by the fresh flood of heat in his face he'd been wrong. 

Wyldon wasn't finished. "Pregnancy may not be a concern," he continued and Owen prayed for the earth to swallow him up immediately. It didn't and he promptly decided the gods didn't exist after all. "However, it is still possible to contract certain illnesses. " He fixed Owen with a hard look. "You will visit Master Willowborn-" he'd named the resident healer at Cavall- "first thing tomorrow and ask her to ensure you are free from all of said illnesses. Am I clear?"

Owen nodded, not even trying to hide his mortification. "Yes, my lord."

"Very well. You may leave." Owen practically jumped to his feet, not caring that he almost knocked his chair over in his haste. He struggled with himself but paused at the door.

"Lord Wyldon?" Wyldon looked up. "Thank you, my lord."

"Goodnight Jesslaw." 

"Goodnight."

****************************************************

Master Willowborn's face was permanently set in a scowl, as though everything was inconveniencing her, made terrifying by her lazy eye. Owen had heard parents around Cavall warning their children not to pull faces 'or the gods will make it stick like Master Willowborn.' Talking to her wasn't a fun experience in any situation, though she obviously knew her craft. Lord Wyldon's orders left Owen squirming in embarrassment as he relayed them but Willowborn's face didn't change. She shot a series of rapid fire questions at him throughout the examination then dismissed him with a clean bill of health. For the first time ever, Owen understood the benefits of her approach.

On the other hand, when Neal found out about the whole thing (Owen would kill to know how he did it), he nearly broke a rib laughing. Owen offered to break one for him but was interrupted by Kel. Amusement shone in her eyes but she kept her Yamani face on the entire time she worked out what was happening and rescued Neal, just patting Owen on the shoulder as she left. As soon as the door closed behind her, Owen buried his face in his hands and cried with relief. 

******************************************************

Margarry wasn't exactly a Kelandry of Mindelan but she still pushed the boundaries her father would have liked her to follow. He could hardly stop her from riding and like any Cavall she had been training dogs from the moment she could walk. On the other hand, her presence on their hunting parties seemed to strain Wyldon's acceptance. More than once Owen noticed his knightmaster gritting his teeth as Margarry chased down some worn out prey. She was certainly a sight, with her wild, triumphant laugh, surrounded by hounds as she hoisted smaller prey above her head.  
If it weren't for Vivenne, she probably would have been sent inside for anything more than a gentle ride. But Wyldon's wife was a different kind of steel that drew her famously inflexible husband around. And Margarry was a perfect young noblewoman when she needed to be, quiet and demure and so polite you almost missed the glitter of fun in her eye. 

She and Owen got on well, they were of a similar age and trained by a man that many progressives questioned the personality of. Her humor was sharper than Owen's but it hid darker shadows and his patient, cheerful outlook was gentle with them in a way few around her were. And she was as much involved in teaching him about training hounds as Wyldon. Truly her father's ability was unparalleled but Margarry was the one who took him through Cavall's kennels and showed him the idiosyncrasies of each of their animals, showed him how to get the best work from each of them. 

She was a constant presence on rides in Cavall- only a warning of bandits or Scanrans in the area could force all but the soldiers and experienced hunters to stay behind. So Owen was used to her being around, comfortable beside her in the saddle. He didn't realize he was setting himself up for trouble until she took advantage and it was already too late. 

****************************************************

It was just before Midwinter, everyone bundled up against the bitter cold. Thankfully the sky was clear, snow underfoot somewhat hid the unevenness of terrain but visibility was high and there was no wind to pull more warmth from their bones. 

Owen was hanging back, he'd fallen from a partially broken horse and with a foot caught in the stirrup, had fallen badly. Willowborn had mostly mended his wrist but winter was a time of illness so he still had to take it easy on the bone. 

When Margarry fell back to ride beside him he was surprised but not hugely so. Several of the young hunters were showing off their apparent riding prowess and Margarry had no time for such antics on a hunt. Or so he thought. 

"If Cooper's head was any bigger, he'd fall off his horse," she muttered to Owen. He grinned and nodded. The black haired man was a dark beauty, powerfully built even for an archer and graceful as Weiryn himself in the saddle. Less graceful in person, Owen had to admit. A number of women were sighing over him in Cavall and unfortunately Cooper knew it. 

"Attractive though," she added in the same tone and he agreed without thinking. A moment too late, he caught himself and jerked around to stare at Margarry. She was grinning and he relaxed a tiny bit. "Thought so. You aren't the least bit subtle, Owen."

******************************************************

Owen didn't feel greatly uncomfortable knowing Margarry was aware of him but he was wary nonetheless. This state of wariness lasted until he realised exactly what he'd really let himself in for. At every kind of social event they found themselves at- scant parties were held at Cavall but there was the occasional noble guest or war party, not to mention the evening meal when every resident of the castle dined together- she would find at least one opportunity to whisper her thoughts on an attractive man somewhere in the gathering. At first he just flushed and ignored her. But Margarry was persistent and he eventually was biting back grins and muttering comments back to her. At first they were just murmured agreements or a negative mumble, barely loud enough for her to hear. He was unwilling to risk Lord Wyldon's ire, especially in front of noble visitors. Gradually he grew bolder and they started having whispered conversations about the merits of any men present. 

It was during one of these conversations that Owen first noticed how Margarry divided her attention. Nyler of Rosemark was leading half a company of of the King's Own north to the Scanran border and Wyldon hosted his men at dinner. His second in command was a young Bazhir man with long hair and a pointed beard over a fine featured face. They were debating whether he would look more or less attractive without a beard between bites of jugged hare but Margarry's thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Her eyes kept darting off to look at the female sergeant seated further down the table. A scar cut across her left cheek and down her chin but her icy blue eyes were startling and solemn. Even Owen, long since decided that he had no interest in girls beyond friendship, could see that she was captivating, though no great beauty like the Queen. He let their conversation lapse for a while, then smiled at Margarry, feeling the wicked glitter so often in her eyes light up in his own.

"Wonder how she got that scar," he said quietly. Margarry started, guilt starting to worm its way across her face before she remembered who she was talking to.  
There was gratitude in her smile that Owen didn't think he deserved but then he remembered the relief when his friends reacted like nothing was different. Lucky as he was with his friends, he and Margarry both knew Tortall at large was not always so kind to people who were attracted to their own sex. "I bet it was a jolly grand adventure," he continued. "Fighting bandits-"

"Ogres," Margarry corrected him.

"But ogres can be perfectly alright," he argued. "Bandits are terrible."

She chewed her lip. "Fine. Fighting bandits- some of whom were ogres."

Owen conceded the addition. "Fighting a motley bandit crew of human and ogres singlehandedly as the rest of her squad snuck the villagers they were attacking out through the unguarded gates. Some of the bandits noticed and tried to stop them from escaping but she cut them down-"

"And took a sword to the face. It would have slain any mortal man," Margarry continued, "but she is no man and fought on until every single bandit was dead at her feet."

For a single heartbeat, Owen nodded solemnly then they both burst into giggles that drew an irate glare from Lord Wyldon. Owen stuffed a fist in his mouth to keep his mirth at bay. When it was safe to remove it, Margarry was looking at him closely. "I didn't think you liked women."

"I don't, not like that," he replied with a shrug. "But I'm not blind either. What about you?" he added, turning it around on her.

Margarry thought about it, merriness fading somewhat from her expression. "I don't know," she said finally. "I find both equally lovely to look at-" she winked at him and they burst into giggles again, this time quietly, "-but I wouldn't want to marry a man."

"But a girl?" he prompted.

She shrugged. "I guess so." There was a defiance in her voice, like she expected him to challenge her.

"I'll marry you a wife then," he suggested, half seriously. "And you can marry me a husband."

"Done," she said just as solemnly. They shook hands then burst out laughing again. It was worth the punishment from Lord Wyldon, Owen thought to himself as he helped the stablehands muck out the large stables, to have a friend who understood.

*****************************************************

In the end, that wasn't quite the way their marriages turned out. 

*****************************************************

During the Scanran War, marriage wasn't exactly high on anyone's priorities. However, once the fighting died down a little and Owen was certain that Kel, Neal, himself and all their friends who had embarked on the rescue of Haven's citizen were not going to be tried for treason, it became a topic he gave considerable thought. What with Neal and Yuki being engaged, and Lord Raoul and Commander Buri, and Kel and Neal's cousin courting each other it was a hard topic to escape. When he finally chanced to see Margarry again, after months of travelling with Lord Wyldon to visit each and every stronghold and refugee camp under his command, Owen took her aside.

"Lady Margarry," he began with every scrap of formality Lord Wyldon had ever given him. 

She'd been smiling when he approached but the seriousness of his manner quietened her good humour. "Owen? What is it? Is it Father?" Lord Wyldon had yet to greet his family, he was still debriefing those captains who had remained behind. The concern Margarry didn't bother masking made Owen flinch. While the war still struggled on, however inevitable, fears of loved ones dying were ever present. He hadn't meant to dredge them up. Formality unravelling, tongue twisted into a bag of knots, he momentarily froze.

"Owen?" Her voice was sharper now, his reaction had alleviated her worst fear. "What's happened?" The struggle going on inside must have shown on his face because Margarry grabbed his hands. "Take a deep breath, Owen, and tell me."

The formal approach wasn't working, he decided. This wasn't the way things were properly done anyway, formality was probably destined to fail. "Margarry, I've been thinking," he began, casting around for the best way to phrase it. "About- about marriage-" she drew a sharp breath but didn't interrupt, "-and what it means to us and...if you're willing, I would like to ask Lord Wyldon for permission to court you."

The silence was incredibly loud and Owen could feel the blood rushing to his face. "Um," she began, sounding similarly desperate for the right words. Her guard had gone up, he could see it in her face, and wanted to disappear. But he held his ground resolutely, he'd said his part now it was Margarry's turn. "Owen, we talked about this. I- I don't-?" She shrugged helplessly.

"Ah! No!" He saw the problem and mentally slapped himself. This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. "I don't- I meant as friends?" Margarry frowned at him, still not understanding his intentions. Owen took another deep breath. That was good advice, breathing. "You have to get married but you don't want to marry a man. I'm expected to get married at some point, probably, but I don't like girls like that. Neither of us can marry people we want so...?"

Now she was following, he could see it in her considering expression. "You think we should marry each other because we understand each other's problem?"

He nodded. Nothing on her face gave anything else away. "Should I go and set fire to myself before I embarrass myself more?" he asked.

The seconds that passed in silence seemed endless as he waited for her to reach whatever conclusions she was turning over in her head. The negative reaction he was resigning himself to wasn't the one he got, however. She flung her arms around his neck, laughing. "Owen, you're brilliant, you know that?" Pulling back, she added, "Why didn't I think of it?"

Stunned by the turnabout, Owen blinked. "You aren't from Jesslaw," he suggested at last. They had discussed at length the madhouse that was Jesslaw and Owen's family and Margarry laughed.

"It isn't even a bad idea," she told him. "When will you speak to father?"

That was the part he'd really been dreading, more than even Margarry knew. He'd never told her about the incident with Malcorm so she didn't know that her father...knew. About his interests, anyway. Owen rubbed his neck, cheeks burning at even the thought of broaching this subject with Lord Wyldon. "Tomorrow," he said, not entirely steady in voice.

Margarry drew back, eyeing him sharply. "What is it?"

Owen flapped his hands helplessly, a habit he'd picked up from Neal. "Nothing." She arched an eyebrow- it made her look exactly like her mother, although she hated to hear that- and he relented. "I don't think Lord Wyldon will approve-"

"Of course he will!" All credit to her, Margarry refrained from laughing at him but he could hear her exasperation. "Father loves you!" Owen didn't say anything and she frowned. "Why wouldn't he approve?"

The words to explain it wouldn't come. All Owen could do was gesture weakly and hope she could work it out from his flailing desperation.

However cruel the god had been that had lead him to this situation, whoever had pushed Margarry into his life made up for it. Or maybe the Trickster held his hand over them both, fickle as he was. It took a few seconds but Margarry's expression cleared. "He knows about you?"

Owen ducked his head in confirmation but jerked it up again when she laughed. He couldn't really see how this was funny, unless you were an outsider, and Margarry wasn't the type to laugh at another's misfortune. "Please tell me that means you have a way to avoid this," he pleaded.

"Of course," Margarry said, merry mischief glittering in her eyes, and if Owen weren't busy being terrified for himself, he would have pitied Lord Wyldon. "I'll ask him."


End file.
